I Would Tell You Sweet Things
by Mrs Don Draper
Summary: Django asks Schultz what it's like to be with a man instead of a woman. *Kinks/Warnings: Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Homophobia, Male Homosociality, Male Homosexuality, Sexual Fantasy, Masturbation, Voyeurism, Pillow Talk, Dirty Talk, Comeplay, Marking, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, First Kiss, Touching, Touch-Starved*


King had been honest about his predilections from the start, so this isn't much of a surprise. King had told him when he freed him that once they had the money, they would free his wife as well, but if he did not approve of his sexual tendencies, he was more than welcome to leave at his leisure. He had promised to keep his desires separate from their bounty hunting partnership. Though that did not mean there wasn't the occasional townie brought out to their campsite for him to fuck. Schultz had always assuaged his partner's fears of an audience by asking them just who would believe a slave anyway? It always seemed to satisfy his partners, and Django would try to block out the sounds of their moaning while they went at it not ten feet from him. They didn't want to stray too far from the warmth of the fire.

Regardless of warmth, however, the men would finish their business, do up their trousers, and make their way back to their family.

"Why don't you like women?" he asks one night when interest had gotten the better of him.

Schultz sighs and quietly goes about redressing himself, choosing his words carefully before answering, "Well, I don't really have an answer to that. The sight of a bare woman has never done much for me, and I have seen my fair share in dirty affair that is bounty hunting. I've always found myself to have preferred male company, or a woman on her hands and knees with derriere exposed when in a pinch."

King settles down on his pallet and blankets, head propped up on one hand to face Django, waiting silently for a rebuke.

Django takes a while to let that sink in. He should have known Schultz would be completely honest with him, but he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He and Hilde had never done it _that_ way before. The thought had never really crossed his mind. Why would it when her warm, wet pussy was right there waiting for him? Uncharacteristically curious, Django cannot help but ask:

"Don't it hurt you?"

Django props himself up on a hand as well.

"Only if not done correctly, but don't worry yourself about it, truly. I hope I haven't upset you, Django. If I've offended you with my encounters, I do apologize. Believe me when I say that I would go into town if I thought it would be safe. I could be jailed or hanged for sexual deviancy. I only do it because...frankly, I hate the feeling of being alone in my desires. I've tried to change, put in every effort...I'll try to be more discrete while you are near. It isn't fair that you should be so intimately privy to my weakness for male flesh."

The Doc sounds heartsick by the end of his little speech. He sounds truly ashamed of himself and his behavior, like he thinks there's something wrong with him. But how can that be when King is the kindest person he's ever met? How can the Doc be doing something wrong when he's already freed him and is saving up money to save his wife? It's a relief to know he doesn't hate women; he just doesn't want to fuck them. Are there people who really think that's so bad? People that think someone like Schultz is in the wrong?

"It don't bother me. How can I be mad at you when you're the whole reason I'm here and not on some plantation? You saved my life."

King looks infinitely relieved. He looks like himself again: wise, devil-may-care, Doc.

But Django still can't help being curious.

"What's it feel like?"

Going a bit red-faced, Doc lays on his back before asking, "Giving or receiving?"

"Never really thought about it either way before, Doc. Can't be too different from a woman, right?"-He reminisces about Hilde while he talks-"Gotta get hard and make 'em wet for you and go in nice and slow-like when they're ready. Get in nice and deep when they are. And, well, you sure know the rest."

Django's trousers suddenly feel tight in the crotch, and he lies down too so he doesn't get too keyed up from all this talk. The stars shine so beautifully tonight, with a bright, clear moon.

Schultz chuckles. "Indeed. You're not far from the mark there, young Django. Man or woman, it is a special thing. Intimate, singular, beautiful even during the most wild of nights."

"I miss my wife."

"I am deeply sorry, my friend."

"I ain't seen her in three years. Ain't had anyone to hold or kiss or make love to in three years all because of the color of our skin."

"I have an idea of what you mean. People like me, male and female, aren't looked upon very fondly. One false move, one substantial accusation can be the end of an otherwise spotless reputation. I mean no one any harm."

"We're in serious shit, aren't we, Doc?" Django asks, chuckling humorlessly.

"Aye."

Django bites his lip when new thoughts come to mind. He's not usually one to talk so much or so openly, but since all of their business is out on the table, he figures he might as well come out an say it. He's been feeling cooped up and riled up for far too long. It was bad enough when they took Hilde away from him, but now Schultz has put a weapon in his hand and killing those evil men gives him a rush like no other. When they take down a man of high worth, Django knows his cock distends the fabric over his crotch and his hands shake and maybe he's gotten a bit handsy with Doc a few times. Maybe he's embraced him and gotten in a few good thrusts from the thrill of the kill. Maybe he's flat out jacked off splayed out on his pallet to relieve all that built up tension. All of this talk and all of those remembered feelings come back to him in a flood, and his semi-hard cock reaches full hardness. He presses the heel of his palm down on his bulge to relieve some of the ache.

"Doc?" he husks. "I ain't feelin' so good."

"If you need to relieve yourself, you're more than welcome to, Django."

Django makes quick work of his trousers and undergarments, letting out a shuddering breath when his skin is bared to the cool night air. He finds himself already leaking, making his cock nice and slick to jack. It aches for somewhere warm and deep to go.

"King? Tell me 'bout how it feels. Tell me what you'd want me to do if it was me with you."

Schultz squirms a bit on his blanket, but decides to indulge his celibate friend. It's not difficult to conjure up a vision of an intimate night with Django. He is a handsome lad. King decides to swallow any lingering self-consciousness and go right for the fantasy Django wants him to build.

"Kissing first, of course. Sweet, slow kisses to tease me. You'd find the spot behind my jaw and suckle there and make me whimper. My sweet spots always make me keen, and I have many of them. You'd pull me in to you by my hips, and I'd feel how hard you were. As hard as you get after a kill. You're thick. I feel it when you hold me close after taking each man down. You'd rut against me, feeling so big, and I'd worry how you'd fit inside me. I'm not small, but you would be a challenge. I would soon see that no oil should be spared. So much would be inside me that you wouldn't be able to tell my passage from a woman's wet cunny. I know you'd want me so wet for you, dripping..."

King shudders as he imagines it. Django, who is so used to the natural lubricant of a woman, would need him soaked to keep up the pretense of normalcy. A man like Django wouldn't want to be shaken out of the moment by being reminded that he's with a man, hypothetically or not. He wants Django to feel as comfortable as he can while still creating this homoerotic fantasy around them. The slick slide and gentle moans that accompany his words are reassuring, and King soon finds himself with his own erection to contend with. Later though. Django needs this release.

"You would-you would put your cock-head against me. Gentle. So very gentle at first. Pressing into me bit by bit. You don't want to harm me, not terribly. Perhaps later, in the aftermath. But I would let you hurt me if it made you feel better. If you needed to beat me for what I am and am not. But later. I'd-I'd beg you to keep your anger at bay until after."

"No."

Schultz is startled out of his monologue at Django's words. Has he already angered his friend? He was almost expecting violence for his audacious words.

"I could never hurt you, King. God, no. Don't talk like that. Everything you're sayin' sounds real nice. I could...I could see it almost. You have pretty words. Don't stop now. Not now."

Deeply touched, King swallows through a lump in his throat. People have beaten him, hit him for being different. Even the ones that had used his body liked to leave marks, almost as if to teach him a lesson for being so dirty. Of course Django is different. He's proving it time and time again.

"Alright," he chokes, swallowing again and fighting tears. "You would be inside me, then. I would be so full of you. You could enter me any way you wanted. On my back, I'd spread my legs wide. On my stomach, I'd rise up on my knees to give you new deepness. On my side, curled around me, hand pressed to my quivering stomach. Any way you want to fill me. I would clench and tense with you in me, wanting you to feel it all, to take your pleasure from me. Don't even think of my cock. I would come just from your closeness to me."

"Doc, I want that. I _want_ all of it."

King gets up and drags his mat and blankets so he's laying right up against his partner. Django's slowed the pace of his hand to match up with this beautifully woven dream, not wanting to come too soon and ruin this beautiful moment they are sharing. Schultz reaches out a hand to cup his cheek, looking deeply into brown eyes that hang on his every word.

"Shhh, shhh. Nearly there, lad. Nearly there. Stay with me?"

Django can only nod as Schultz barely brushes his lips across his own. He needs to hear the rest of what the doctor has to say.

Whispering now, Schultz resumes his narration.

"Once in me, you'd be nervous. You haven't done this before. I would tell you that everything was exquisite and to use me as you pleased. You would hesitate, but I would tell you sweet things, and you wouldn't be able to restrain yourself any longer. _My darling, my lamb, my honey, I am for you_. Your hips piston faster and faster. It hurts me, but not enough for me to want you to stop. I would encourage you to go faster. _Faster, my spatzi, more, more. You are so close now_."

King's hand caresses his face and neck, causing him to shudder. His hand comes down to settle on his hip, a solid, reassuring pressure on his lust-warmed skin. Django's breath becomes more and more rapid. Schultz is right. He doesn't know how much longer he can hold back. It's been so long.

"Not much longer now, liebling. I would not dare to keep this ecstasy from you. Come inside me when you are ready. Fill me deeply with your seed. Mark me. Claim me as your own. _Come_."

Django shoots white ropes of come between them, and finally Schultz puts his hand on him, working him through the aftershocks. His hand is thickly covered in his essence, but he doesn't seem put off from the mess. Instead, he wraps his hand around his own throat, leaving the mess all over his neck and chin. Django shivers in intense pleasure again, more come spilling from his cock.

"_Mark me_," he reiterates.

Django makes quick work of buttons and flies, rubbing his filthy hands over the doctor's chest and belly and cock, which has left it's own wet spot in Schultz's trousers. He must have come when Django did, quietly absorbing Django's pleasure as his own. Django couldn't help himself when he leaned over his partner's body and kissed him wetly and open-mouthed before making his way over to that alleged sensitive area of jaw. He was not disappointed. The whimpering was perfect, but soon fatigue overtook the worn out bounty hunter.

When Django had laid back down, Schultz pulled his blanket up to shield him from the night's chill, and stroked his head with care. He couldn't recall a time when he had been so well cared for, so loved.

Django jumped when Schultz made to walk away from their campsite, out of range of the light and the heat of the fire.

"Easy, lad. I'm just going to the stream to clean up. Rest now. I'll be back before you know it."

Django settled back down. He told himself he would stay away until the doctor returned, but knew neither of them had anything to fear. Once cleansed, King re-entered their campsite to find Django fast asleep, clutching his blanket close to him.

It appeared he would be sleeping on Django's side of the fire tonight, and that was just fine with him.


End file.
